


The Amaranthine Job

by amarane (aeternalegacy)



Category: Leverage, The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Canon Typical Violence, Crossover, Found Family, Gen, Leverage OT3, M/M, Multi, Other, Polyamory, trigger warning: blood, trigger warning: firearms, trigger warning: violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:20:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25682677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aeternalegacy/pseuds/amarane
Summary: An immortal army of four and a trio of mortal thieves find themselves caught in an international web of power moves from players that none of them are ready to face.
Relationships: Alec Hardison/Eliot Spencer, Alec Hardison/Parker/Eliot Spencer, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 21
Kudos: 129





	1. Prologue

COFFEE SHOP — LONDON, ENGLAND  
4 months after the Merrick Pharmaceuticals incident

James Copley settled himself at a small table with a laptop and a latte, just another person taking advantage of the coffee shop wifi. As he sipped at his drink, he checked the text message again. 

Four o’clock sharp, at a popular coffee shop in a busy part of London. He was here. Now all that was left was to meet with his mysterious contact.

Meetings such as this had once been a staple of his life. While spy fiction often portrayed these assignments as fraught with danger and intrigue, Copley’s meetings tended to be far tamer, more often meeting in crowded bars to surreptitiously exchange information.

Not too long ago, he had told himself that he was fine being well shot of covert work. He had left it all behind when his wife first got sick without a second thought. As he sat at his wife’s bedside, nursing her as best he could, he had nothing but time to contemplate what was important in this life. 

He decided that arranging for tactical operations to protect United States military interests abroad was not one of those things.

After her death, he struggled to find some activity to keep him busy. At the time it was his fool’s attempt to give her death some purpose. Even so, he knew it was necessary to help drag himself out of the darkness and despair of her loss. 

Copley knew his wife would never want her death to stop him from living his life. But if he had to keep living without her, he resolved himself to try and find something to make it worthwhile.

But how he would do that, he did not know. Going back to work seemed an empty cause; protecting national interests from the shadows rang hollow. While trying to decide on how to come back to the world, he chose to fall back on a hobby from when he was younger: researching conspiracy theories. 

He settled on an urban legend about a group of people called The Old Guard, supposed immortal soldiers. It was a fantastic type of urban legend, rumors of three men and a woman who appeared at different turning points in history, only to disappear again.

What was supposed to be nothing more than a hobby to pass the time became a near obsession. Perhaps it was his eye for detail, or maybe his ability to see patterns, or maybe it was just dumb luck, but his research started to bear fruit.

If he could find them, he may be able to bring some good into this world. It could be the end of disease, something worth fighting for. 

Ultimately, the cost was too great and he nearly paid for it. In his quest to help the world, he had nearly doomed four innocent people to an eternity of suffering. 

That was not the man he was.

The past few months had been spent paying penance for what he did. Altruism aside, helping immortals soldiers use their talents for exponential good was an expensive endeavor. It was one thing to arrange for tactical missions as part of an organization; it was another to do it on one’s own without the endless coffers of an international corporation or government entity.

As important as his work for The Old Guard was, it did not pay the bills.

But his reputation in the intelligence circles meant that agencies — government and otherwise — could come knocking. And when he received the message for this meeting, it seemed that it may have.

If he was honest, it felt good to be back in the game, even if he had no idea who he was going to be talking to. He had tried to find out, of course. But all he had was a burner phone number, a location, and a time. The only way to find out was to go to the meeting.

He knew his contact as soon as she walked in the door, an instinct honed from years in covert operations. The brown-haired, brown-eyed woman in professional dress and heels was nothing unusual in this part of London. Had he not been looking, she would have been easy to miss.

But it was her bearing, a type of quiet confidence that told him without a doubt that this was his contact.

A quick glance around the coffee shop was all it took for her to find him.

“Mr. Copley.” The woman walked over and held out her hand, a measured smile on her face. Her tone was friendly but professional. “Thank you for meeting with me.” 

“Likewise,” he returned, shaking her hand and gesturing for her to sit down. “Please, have a seat, Ms —”

The woman nodded but did not fall for the bait. “My name is not important," she said, sitting down. "I represent a party that is quite interested in your prior work.”

“My prior work?” he asked. “Is this a job interview?”

“Possibly. It depends on how this conversation goes.”

“And what work might your client be interested in? I have had quite a career.”

“My client is interested in your work within the last year with Merrick Pharmaceuticals.”

It was Copley’s turn to give her a polite smile. “If your client is looking for my supposed work with Merrick, I’m afraid they will be disappointed. There is nothing to discuss.”

The woman returned his smile, undeterred. Reaching into her bag, she pulled out a business card and placed it on the table. “I doubt that. We will look forward to speaking with you.” He stood with her and shook her hand, watching with interest as she left.

He looked back down at the table, and picked up the card. Reading the information on it, Copley pondered his next move.


	2. Chapter 1: Point of Origin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James Copley arrives at the team safehouse with a proposal for The Old Guard.
> 
> Meanwhile, Eliot Spencer learns that trouble could be coming for Alec Hardison. He is determined to find out what and why.

* * *

_Accept the things to which fate binds you,_

_and love the people with whom fate brings you together,_

_but do so with all your heart._

**Marcus Aurelius**

* * *

**THE OLD GUARD SAFE HOUSE - SOMEWHERE IN UKRAINE**  
Almost a year after the Merrick Pharmaceutical incident

It had been nearly a year since Corporal Nile Freeman died in Afghanistan, having bled out after having her throat slashed by an insurgent. She could still feel the pain of that first death, the warmth of her blood oozing from the gash pooling at her shoulder. She still could hear Dizz screaming for a medic, could feel the pain ebbing as she drifted away, suddenly so tired and so ready for it all to be over.

Little did she know that it was only the beginning.

In the dusty heat of the Afghan evenings, she dreamt of what she would be doing after her stint in the Marines. Back then, she knew that there was an art history degree with her name on it, somewhere.

The University of Chicago? Spelman? Maybe Howard? Wherever she chose to attend was sure to be better than a dusty desert barrack. College would have taken four years, at least. Then there was building her career. If she wanted to use her art history degree to teach, that was at least another two years for grad school. 

Her last thought before sleep overtook her those days was how infinite the possibilities were, and how unfair it was that there was only so much time to do everything she wanted to accomplish. 

But Marine Corporal Nile Freeman was dead on paper, and in some ways, so many of her dreams had died with that life. Now that she was immortal, she had nothing but time. Her life was infinite but her paths were suddenly restricted. 

Sometimes, Nile wondered where would she be now, if Andy had not come for her? Would she be in Germany, locked away in some US military facility as they tried to unlock the secret of her miraculous recovery to replicate on other soldiers? Would she have been doomed to an eternity of testing in some secret lab, desperately trying to find some way to escape? 

Nile had no answers. All she knew was where she was now, which happened to be in a team safe house somewhere in Ukraine. According to Joe, it was one of their newer safe houses, procured sometime in the 1990s. 

Setting up home in an abandoned apartment building just outside the nuclear exclusion zone while waiting for Copley to brief them on their next job was not exactly what she expected after she died, but such was the reality of her never-ending life.

One of the constants in her new life was the ever-changing landscape of hotel rooms and safe houses. Sometimes the places they stayed at were surprisingly nice. There was one hotel in Cairo that had a great view that doubled as a nice sniper perch for Nicky and Joe. But just as often, she found herself in questionable dive motels that made her skin crawl.

Between jobs, the days settled into a predictable rhythm, no matter where they were. Nile found herself living for that mundanity; it provided a sense of normalcy that she so desperately craved. 

Mornings often started with Andy stumbling in from a night out, usually when Nile, Joe, and Nicky were eating breakfast. After that, as Andy slept, the three of them busied themselves with whatever they could. 

Sometimes the three of them would talk quietly amongst themselves. In the beginning, Nile would often ask them the questions that had weighed on her since her first death. Was it worth it, living the life of an immortal warrior? How did it feel, watching humanity never learn from its own history?

But eventually, Nile realized that these questions had no good or definitive answers. And whatever answers they did have, she could see the weight it had upon them, especially Nicky. 

So rather than start off the day with heavy, philosophical questions, Nile decided to go for a lighter approach. They would talk about current events, the weather, funny things they had seen. Sometimes, they would make plans to play tourist, if the area they were in warranted it. 

These safe, banal topics required no introspective examinations and Nile could see that they were thankful for that.

After breakfast, they would each find ways to fill the hours. In some ways, it was much like being back in Afghanistan: you did what you could just to keep the boredom at bay.

Joe would often sketch or watch sports if there was a television available. Nicky generally puttered around reading or writing or reloading bullets. Nile flitted from different activities, usually listening to music or playing games on her disconnected phone.

Nile was thankful that she got along well with Nicky and Joe. Joe in particular was easy to talk to. He was funny, friendly, and had a seemingly inexhaustible supply of knowledge that he was only too happy to share. 

As it turned out, Nile did not mourn her inability to pursue her art history degree. Joe had lived through all the major art movements and could elucidate with enthusiasm about the context and complexities behind them that academics could only theorize.

Nicky was quieter than Joe, often sitting back but always busy doing something. When they were in a safe house with a kitchen, as they were now, he was usually cooking. As much as she missed her mom’s cooking, Nile figured her immortality was well worth it just for access to Nicky’s culinary talents.

Nile realized that despite his silence — or perhaps because of it — he was always aware of what was going on around him. Every so often Nicky would chime in with an addition to something Joe was saying but usually, his presence was that of comfortable silence.

Of course, it made sense that Nicky was always listening and watching when Joe was around. The two were always in each other’s orbit, whether on the job or just living life. They were two halves to a whole, never far from one another. Nile liked to think that her parents would have been similar, had her father not been killed in action.

What surprised Nile was how much Nicky actually listened and watched her, too. Not the same way that he paid attention to Joe, of course. But he was still patient and heard what she said and what she did not say. 

There were many times in the past few months that he had taken Nile aside and said or did something that she sorely needed when she was having difficulty adjusting to her new reality. She was always so grateful for that and she made sure to let Nicky know that.

And of course, there was Andy. Joe and Nicky both called her “Boss” but it seemed to Nile less like a title and more a term of affection. As the eldest, she was the undisputed leader; not just of the team but of their strange little family. 

Nile had a hell of a drill instructor back in Basic who regularly pushed her Marines to the brink, and then some. There had been more than one night when Nile had laid in her bunk, her muscles sore, and her mind exhausted, wondering if she had made the right decision joining the Corps.

Training with Andy was similar but the one thing Nile learned while training with her is, that when death is nothing more than a temporary inconvenience, there are no limits to what you can do.

Unfortunately, that was not always a good thing.

Unlike Joe and Nicky, who readily embraced their downtime between jobs, Andy sometimes seemed as though she did not know what to do with herself when she was not in a fight or preparing for one. If they were not preparing for a job or training Nile, Andy would try to find something to do but never seemed to be able to manage it. 

By evening, she was most likely drinking, and more often than not, she would leave to do god-only-knew-what. There were nights she did not return until morning, reeking of liquor, and what Nile figured was likely a night of no-strings-attached sex.

The first time Andy returned to the safe house bleary-eyed and disheveled with a devil-may-care smirk before she fell asleep was surprising. Seeing Andy like this was strangely comforting, just another soldier shit-faced after a night out. It reminded Nile that despite living longer than she could even fathom, Andy was still very much human.

The group depended on Copley to find them jobs. To Nile’s surprise, there was no shortage of jobs that the team could take. There were hot spots that the UN and other peacekeeping forces would not touch for political reasons. There were jobs that even private military contractors would turn down because they were essentially suicide missions.

There were jobs where Nile saw the worst of humanity and made her question how people could be so cruel. And then there were jobs where Nile was reminded exactly why what they did was important.

It was late afternoon by the time Copley arrived at the safe house. Andy was nursing a cup of black coffee that Nicky had handed to her after she woke up. Nile was quietly fixing her braids in the safe house bathroom, one Airpod in so she could listen to her music but still keep track of what was going on around her.

The knock at the door was expected but nevertheless, they were ready to defend themselves. Nicky was the closest to the door, opening it with a pistol at the ready behind it as Joe greeted their guest.

“Mr. Copley, glad you could join us,” said Joe, showing Copley to the small seating area as Nicky closed the door and holstered his weapon. “Pretty late in the day, isn’t it?”

“My apologies. My work has me quite busy. I was getting some things in order to show you all,” Copley said as he set down his briefcase on the coffee table, taking a seat.

The rest of the team settled opposite of him, Andy with Nile on a rickety sofa, and Nicky and Joe off to the side on chairs, slightly behind. “So what do you have for us Copley?”

“A proposal,” answered Copley. 

“For a mission?”  
  
“Not exactly.” Reaching into his briefcase, he pulled out a tablet. “I’ve prepared a dossier for you to look at.”

“On what?” said Andy. 

Copley took a deep breath. “I think it would be prudent to bring in some help for the team. I called in several favours from my former associates to show you this," he said, setting the tablet on the coffee table.

Nile saw Andy’s jaw set and her eyes narrow. "The idea behind having you help us is to keep our anonymity, not tell the whole world about us,” Andy said, her voice tight with irritation, not bothering to look at the tablet.

Copley nodded, clearly trying to placate Andy. “If you want to avoid leaving a digital footprint, I believe this hacker would be an invaluable ally. He can do things that I simply can’t.”

Nile peered at the tablet. At the top of the file was the photo of a handsome Black man with a charming grin and eyes that seemed to glint with mischief. He looked a little older than herself, maybe his late twenties, possibly his thirties if Nile had to guess. “This the hacker?”

“Yes. Perhaps one of the best hackers in the world. He hacked the Pentagon when he was 12 years old, was wanted in Iceland for wire fraud as a teenager. He’s been on intelligence watch lists ever since.”

"So he’s a criminal.” Nile raised an eyebrow.

“Most hackers that aren’t part of an official intelligence organization are,” Copley explained. “But this particular hacker is unique. He deserves a closer look.”

“Why?” Joe wanted to know.

“He and his associates are more Robin Hood than common criminals.” 

"Steals from the rich, gives to the poor?" Andy scoffed. “Come on, Copley, that’s bullshit.”

“Sounds like a fairy tale, don’t you think?” Nile said.

“No more so than immortal warriors fighting the good fight throughout history,” Copley returned.

Beside her, Nile heard Joe chuckle.

“You can’t criticize the unlikely when we are the impossible, Boss,” Nicky said.

Andy shot them both an annoyed look before getting up to rummage in the kitchen area, likely for a drink.

“You said something about associates,” Nile turned back to Copley, eager to get this back on track. While Nile could certainly see the value of having a skilled hacker in addition to Copley, she doubted that Andy agreed.

“He works in a team of three.” Copley held out his hand to Nile, who handed over the tablet. He swiped through the document before returning it. “Here.” He had swiped forward to a picture of another man, white with long, brown hair, slightly older than the hacker. Nile would guess he was somewhere in his late thirties, possibly in his forties. “This is one of his associates. He’s ex-special forces.”

“Former Marine?” Nile guessed hopefully.

Copley shook his head. “Army.”

Nile’s instinctive snort fell short as she swiped, the screen filled with the man’s military record, much of it redacted. “Whoa, he’s seen a lot of action. He went PMC after he got out?”

“Let me see that,” Andy said, rejoining Nile on the couch, an opened bottle of vodka in hand. 

“Yes. And you three,” Copley gestured to Andy, Joe, and Nicky, “were on the same mission in Pakistan in the spring of 2009. He was on the exfil team. And you weren’t.”

“What’s the story on her?” Andy asked as she came to a series of pictures of a blond woman. Unlike the other two files, the photos of her tended to be obstructed or blurred. There was far less information on her in the dossier than there had been on the men.

“She’s suspected in dozens of high-profile art and jewelry thefts in the early aughts. Caught once in France and then disappeared. Beyond that, she’s a mystery. All I can say for sure is that she runs with the other two.”

Andy continued to swipe through the file when Nile noticed something. “All you got is up to, what, 2012? It’s like they dropped off the face of the earth. How can you be sure they’re still active?”

“They,” Andy repeated, scoffing. She tossed the tablet back on the table before turning an accusatory eye towards Copley. “You said you wanted to bring in the hacker, now we’re talking about all three? What’s your game?”

“One thing that’s clear about this hacker is that he does not work alone,” Copley said. “If we want his help, we will likely get the rest of the team as well.”

“A computer hacker that runs with a thief and a mercenary? What the hell kind of team is that?”

“A thief could be useful, Boss,” Nicky spoke up. 

“We need someone to help keep us in the shadows. If we need to steal something, Nicky, we could do it ourselves.”

“We could,” Nicky agreed. “But that is not our expertise.”

“Remember that job back about 20 years ago?” Joe asked.

Andy scoffed, taking a large swig from the bottle.

Nile was determined to make Andy see reason. “We could definitely use a hacker. We’re blind when we’re out there.”

“Not to mention that any job you do, there’s often a lot of clean up,” added Copley.

“Do you mean that literally or figuratively?” Joe asked.

Copley coughed, dodging the question. He pointed at the tablet again. “This hacker, this team… they are undoubtedly the best at what they do.”  
  
“Which is what, exactly?” Andy wanted to know. 

“They’re con artists and thieves, among the best there are. They could be a valuable ally.”

“What’s to say that they won’t try to con us?” Joe asked. 

“This crew has a very specific type of mark. In fact, I have it in good faith that they’re the ones behind this.”

The four immortals crowded around the tablet to look at the last part of the presentation.

“Okay. That,” said Joe, gesturing toward the tablet, “is definitely impressive. Not our style, but oddly gratifying.”

“And not something we could have ever pulled off, even with Booker,” added Nicky.

“Even you gotta admit, that really is something, huh Andy?” Nile said, smiling.

Andy took another swig from her bottle. “It is,” she admitted. She looked back at Copley. “See if you can arrange a meeting. I’d like to talk to them.” 

* * *

  
BRIDGEPORT BREWPUB - PORTLAND, OREGON

Worrying was a waste. Eliot Spencer knew that better than anyone else. Time or energy spent worrying could be better used in making preparations. After that, all he could do is trust in his abilities to roll with whatever came his way.

But a call from Vance out of the blue one evening reminded him that it was hard not to worry when trouble could possibly be coming for the team.

According to Vance, an ex-spook named Copley called in several favors to get classified government files on Hardison. Much of it was at least a decade old, but just knowing that someone was actively looking for Hardison definitely made Eliot uneasy.

Being on the wrong side of the law was nothing new to their crew. From local cops to state police all the way up to Interpol, dodging law enforcement was just a fact of life. 

It wasn’t just the law that they had to dodge, either. In their line of work, threats could and did come from just about anywhere. Ruining billionaires’ lives tended to have that effect.

It was one thing when the team was mostly working against domestic marks. But once the team had taken their work global, it made the jobs they did in the United States look like child’s play.

With how deep corporate interests ran, taking down one company could uncover a convoluted web of corruption that meant they had to tread even more carefully than before. Mess with a company’s interests the wrong way, and the possibilities of disrupting criminal empires and possibly national governments rose exponentially.

As such, knowing that Hardison could be in the sights of a former CIA operative was a special kind of worry. Like military spec ops, someone that left government covert operations typically went on to do the same for a private organization.

Government-funded covert operatives and special forces like he once was, did what they did because they were patriots. Treaties and agreements gave operatives and operators diplomatic leeway and immunity, depending on where they were and what they were doing.

But private contractors were different. It was not about allegiance or ideals. It was about money. A contractor worked for whoever was willing to pay them. What a contractor did, and why they did it, was up to their employer. 

Of course, an employer that was willing to hire a private contractor for either covert or tactical operations typically did not have virtuous or patriotic motives.

As for rules of engagement, there were none. Private contractors got the job done by any means necessary. Nothing was off the table, so long as you did not get caught. Eliot knew that all too well.

So whatever this ex-spy wanted, Eliot was determined to figure it out first. What was this cat’s angle? Who were his employers?

Vance claimed not to know. While Eliot hated to be suspicious of someone he had known forever and generally trusted, when it came to protecting Hardison and Parker, Eliot would not leave anything to chance.

Eliot did not trust spies. Spies moved far more like their own team did, coming at a target sideways, where they least expected it. More often than not, a spy’s job paved the way for a tactical team to finish up.

Knowing that, Eliot would be damned if he was going to allow their team to be caught in anyone’s crosshairs.

He considered keeping the news from Hardison and Parker, but that was more trouble than it was worth. Keeping things from them used to be easy. There was a time when all he needed to do was growl a bit, shut down, and they would let him be. That gave him room to do what he needed to do with minimal interference. 

But that was a long time ago. Things had changed so much from the first jobs they had done together with Nate and Sophie. While those two were supposedly retired, they were always just a phone call away whenever Eliot and the others needed them.

Sometimes they may loop in another crew for a particular job but more often than not, it was just the three of them: hitter, hacker, and thief. Aside from Nate and Sophie, there was never a question of bringing anyone else in.

They were a crew. But there were other words to describe their unconventional relationship with each other, too. Boyfriend, girlfriend, husband, wife, significant others, partners, lovers. Polyamorous. Triad. Threesome.

In the end, the label was unimportant. They had each other’s backs and loved each other in a way not many could understand. For the three of them, all that mattered was that they were together. Family.

And Eliot took any threat to his family very seriously. 

Vance’s information, while sparse, was enough to get started on the search. It took Hardison almost no time to find the ex-spook while poking around on his laptop over breakfast the next morning.

“So, here’s your ex-spy. James Copley, ex-CIA, British and US passports. Lives in Surrey county, England.”

“Any reason you can think of why he’s looking at you?” Parker wondered, looking thoughtfully at his screen as she munched on her cereal beside him. Almost ten years of living together and Eliot had yet to convince Parker that there were better breakfasts out there than Rocky-O’s. 

“Aside from the usual?” Hardison said, taking a bite of the breakfast sandwich that Eliot had made for him. “I got a look at the stuff he got on me. Oh, and on you guys, too. Well, more like a ton on Eliot and like, a tiny bit on Parker but y’all know how that goes. But it’s all old. Almost a decade old. Not much damage he could do with that.”

“Not thinking about damage. It’s still enough to find you,” said Eliot.

“And you,” Parker pointed out.

“I’m not worried about me,” Eliot returned. Anything that was over a decade old was old news, likely military records and some of the stuff he would rather forget. Though realistically, anything they had on him from that time might have been a decent deterrent.

“I’ll keep digging but as of right now? No clue what he wants with me.”

“Worrying isn’t going to do you any good,” Parker said, poking at Eliot a little. “Whatever this guy Copley wants, we’ll handle it together. Like always.”

Eliot scoffed. “I’m not worrying.”

“Yeah, you are. You always have the same type of frowny face when you’re worrying,” she said, poking at him lightly again.

“She’s right, you know,” Hardison said, grinning. “It’s a very distinctive frowny face.”

Eliot growled, busying himself with cleaning up the breakfast dishes. They were right, of course; he was worried. He had sworn long ago, that he would keep them safe till his dying day. 

Finding out what the hell this Copley guy wanted was going to be key to figuring out how to do that.

* * *

Eliot was not expecting was for Copley to appear on their front doorstep just a few days later. 

He had scaled back his presence in the brewpub largely due to the threat of someone hunting down Hardison, opting to delegate most of the service to his sous chef to leave him free to react as necessary. 

Hardison and Parker often teased him for his inability to stay out of the kitchen, and they were right. Despite handing off his kitchen duties, he still found himself walking through the kitchen on a busy Saturday evening, to make sure his kitchen crew had what they needed.

Just as the evening’s service started to slow down after the dinner rush, that was when Eliot spotted Copley relaxing in the brewpub’s corner booth.

It took everything Eliot had inside him not to storm to the corner booth and take Copley by the collar and demand what the fuck he wanted with Hardison.

Instead, after verifying Copley’s order, Eliot waited for his order from the pass, and took it to him himself. As he walked over, he looked about the room, trying to identify anyone that may have come in with Copley or was acting as backup.

Satisfied that Copley had come alone, Eliot walked to his booth. Setting the cup of chili down, Eliot sat opposite Copley in the booth. “You’re Copley.”

Copley looked at him, smiling. “And you’re Eliot Spencer.”

Eliot nodded. “As much as I want you to enjoy your food, I’m giving you exactly ten seconds to tell me what the hell you want with Alec Hardison.”

“I understand. If I could just —”

“You’re down to eight seconds,” Eliot interrupted.

“I have a job for your crew if you’ll let me explain.”

“So explain. Five seconds.”

“I will, but not here.” Copley looked around, indicating the Saturday night crowd. The dinner rush was over but there were still plenty of patrons. Eliot would not risk making a scene and Copley knew it. “I’ve got a video and dossier for your crew to review if you’ll let me.”

Eliot was about to say something when he felt a familiar, light touch on his shoulder. Parker was standing beside him, looking with curiosity at Copley. Eliot never ceased to marvel at Parker’s talent for moving silently when she needed to. “Let’s move this back for a private tasting, shall we?” she suggested. 

Eliot nodded and escorted Copley with Parker to the private tasting room they had in the back. When not using it for beer tastings, it made an excellent room to meet with clients that needed a little extra discretion.

Or, in this instance, an ex-spook who claimed to have a job for them.

In any case, the entry had a lock as well as a hidden corridor to surreptitiously take out the trash, as it were. Eliot never had to use it for that purpose but he supposed there was always a first time. 

Hardison was waiting for them in the back, pouring a beer flight, and had also gotten another cup of chili for Copley. “He ordered it,” Hardison said by way of explanation, shrugging. “May as well let the man enjoy it.”

Eliot shrugged. There was no argument from him on that point, at least.

“It’s really good,” Parker put in, as the three of them settled on the opposite side of the bar. 

“So who are you, exactly?” Hardison said. “Heard you were looking for me?”

“My name is James Copley, though I’m sure you know that. And yes, I am the one who pulled files on the three of you. I must say, that was easier said than done.” 

“All right. So why pull them in the first place?” Eliot wanted to know.

“Have you heard of The Old Guard?”

“Our question first,” Parker said.

“You’ll understand why in a minute. Have you heard of The Old Guard?” he repeated.

“Yeah, it’s a legend that got popularized on the dark web awhile back about a group of immortal soldiers, fighting the good fight ” Hardison shrugged.

“Oh, I’ve heard of them!” Parker raised her hand and both Eliot and Hardison stared at her in disbelief. “There was a piece of jewelry that was supposedly tied to them that I stole from the British National Museum awhile back.”

“Sounds like one of your comic books,” Eliot said to Hardison.

“Oh. Legend says they’re led by a woman, don’t forget that,” Parker added. Between that and her heist, Eliot wondered which part of the legend Parker liked more.

“Internet myth, that’s all it is,” Hardison said, returning his attention to Copley, “I’m a geek but when it comes down to it, I’m a man of science. It’s about as plausible as werewolves and vampires.”

Parker’s eyes lit up and for a moment, Eliot was afraid that the whole conversation was about to fall down a rabbit hole about the supernatural.

“I understand where you’re coming from. I am here to tell you that the legends about The Old Guard are true.” Any relief that Eliot felt that the conversation was not going to go completely off the rails was short-lived. “There are four immortal soldiers and I’m here on their behalf.”

“Right.” Hardison nodded. “Look, man, enjoy the beer and the chili. Hell, I’ll even give you a six-pack for your troubles. But this is a little too over the top to be believed.”

Parker held up a hand. “Since you’re already here, how about you show us what you have,” she suggested, “Then we’ll decide.”

Copley nodded, his posture relaxing as though relieved that at least one of them was willing to take him seriously. 

“This is footage taken several months ago, during a raid in South Sudan,” he said, setting up a tablet.

“What was their objective?” Eliot asked.

“It was a rescue mission that did not go quite as planned.” Copley tapped the screen and turned it around as their team gathered around to watch.

The footage was exactly what Copley had said it was: closed-circuit footage of a four-man team infiltrating a compound. The surroundings certainly looked to Eliot to be right for a Sudanese militia outpost.

These operators, whoever they were, were certainly skilled, perhaps some of the best that Eliot had seen in a while. They made their way quickly through the compound with minimal but efficient engagement. 

But what got Eliot’s attention was the operators’ kit: three of them appeared to have melee weapons of some kind. He realized with a jolt he knew who these operators were. 

Eliot flicked a glance at his partners. Parker was watching with an almost clinical, detached interest. Hardison, on the other hand, was wide-eyed, his face a mask of morbid curiosity, then turning to near abject horror as the team was ambushed. 

“What the — this —” Hardison started to say, choking on his words. 

Despite everything that Eliot had done and seen over his career, even he could not hide his disgust. “A squad of twelve mag dumping on four people? That’s fucking barbaric.” 

“Look man -- this is sick, all right,” Hardison said to Copley, his revulsion evident on his face. “I seen enough, just --”

“Wait,” said Copley, holding up a hand. “I know, it’s very unsettling but just wait a moment.” 

Frowning, Hardison turned his attention back toward the video. “What the fuck…” he whispered, putting a hand to his mouth as the bodies on the floor slowly, painfully began to get up.

The three of them sat, transfixed, watching as the team reanimated and got their revenge. The skill that all of them showed with their firearms was impressive but even Eliot had never seen swordwork like that in a live fight, much less a live firefight. 

The hooded operator with the longsword and the operator in the ball cap effortlessly set up initial shots for each other before cleaving the rest in an intricate dance. But the operator with the labrys was even more deadly, breaking limbs and getting up close and personal.

It took only a minute for the four supposed immortals to dispatch the squad of twelve that had ambushed them. 

Copley reached over and turned off the video. Eliot let out a breath that he did not even realize he was holding before looking back at his partners. 

Parker’s face was thoughtful, clearly considering what she had just watched. As expected, she seemed less fazed by the violence and more interested in the implication of it all. 

Looking to Hardison, however, Eliot could tell his partner was trying, and failing, to make sense of what he had just seen.

“So let me get this straight,” Hardison said to Copley after a moment. “You come here, tell us that immortals are real and that they’ve been kicking ass?”

“Just about, yes,” Copley agreed. 

“Here’s the thing. If it’s true, holy shit that’s cool. Like, comic book level cool. But this isn’t real. This _can’t_ be real.” Hardison emphatically gestured towards the tablet. “This could be anything, a scene from a Hollywood movie, doctored security footage. Not that hard to fake. You’ve seen what you can do with Unreal Engine now, right?”

Copley nodded. “I wouldn’t have believed it for myself if I hadn’t seen it happening in real-time. But I assure you, this is absolutely real. I’ve faked nothing.”

“Say just for a second that all this _is_ real,” Eliot broke in, choosing to ignore the look of utter disbelief Hardison gave him. “What’re you showing this to us for?”

“I’ve been tasked with keeping them anonymous, cleaning their tracks.” Copley turned back to Hardison. “You’re the best hacker in the world. If there’s anyone that can help with this, it’s you.”

“Hey, I’m flattered. Really. But…” Hardison just shook his head. “I haven’t taken work for hire in, I dunno, what, ten years? More? Plus, I run with these two,” he said, indicating Eliot and Parker.

“We’re a crew,” Parker clarified. “And this isn’t the kind of thing we do.”

“Isn’t it?” Copley tapped at his tablet and then turned it back to face them. “You were the crew that orchestrated the Merrick Pharmaceutical corporate meltdown? Right after the CEO’s death?” None of the trio said a word. “I know this is a lot to take in but please, consider what I’ve just told you.”

“Why? What does any of this have to do with us?” Parker wanted to know. 

“If you agree to meet with my people, I promise, you’ll find out.”

Eliot glanced at Parker. He knew that look in her eyes; she had made her decision.

* * *

Later that evening, after Copley left (with profuse compliments on the chili and the beer), and both Eliot and Hardison surreptitiously swept the premises to make sure he had not left any listening devices, the three of them locked up and settled down to relax as the brewpub crew closed the restaurant for the evening. 

For Eliot, there was a delicate balance between being informed and keeping them safe. If what Copley told them was not bullshit — and Eliot knew that it wasn’t — then not agreeing to the meeting would have meant more trouble that Eliot was not in the mood to take on.

Unable to concentrate on the movie that the other two had chosen to settle down with for the evening, Eliot instead opted to work his thoughts out on a punching bag. 

During his time in the military, Eliot had seen and done some unbelievable things. Some were so far-fetched that sometimes Eliot wondered whether he dreamed up the entire mission. Hardison once mentioned a dark web conspiracy theory about an interdimensional portal and Eliot was so tempted to tell him the truth about that. (For one, it was not an interdimensional portal; it was interstellar.)

In the same surreal vein, Eliot had encountered those operators twice before. Or at the very least, he had recognized their weapons: a scimitar, a labrys, and a longsword. While hatchets were standard issue for many modern operators, it was improbable that any operator would use such archaic weapons in their standard kit.

What troubled him more was that he knew this team’s reputation. They were efficient and deadly. 

Copley had said that they wanted Hardison’s hacking skills. Eliot would never doubt that others would want Hardison’s talents but something seemed not quite right. There were pieces that did not seem to add up, particularly when it came to hiring their crew.

What the hell kind of trouble had found its way to them? And more importantly, why? He knew, at least, that Parker was on the same page that he was, otherwise she would never have agreed to meet these supposed immortals. 

So despite Eliot’s misgivings, he would follow Parker’s lead, as always. They would get to the bottom of this and while they did, it would be on Eliot to keep his family safe.

Eliot was so lost in his thoughts, it took him a while to realize that Hardison was leaning in the doorway, watching him. “Hey. Don’t mean to bother you.”

“You’re not,” Eliot replied between punches, stealing a glance as Hardison walked over to lean on the wall nearby. Hardison was never really good at hiding how he felt, at least not around him and Parker. “Something on your mind?”

“Yeah. Um, that footage that Copley showed us,” Hardison said slowly, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his shorts, “think it was real?”

“Dunno,” Eliot replied, landing a few solid hits on the bag. “We’ve seen some crazy stuff but this —” He continued punching at the bag, before realizing that Hardison still seemed unsatisfied. “You okay, man?”

“Yeah,” Hardison mumbled. “I was just wondering, that stuff, like going into the compound. That was what you used to do?”

Eliot paused for a moment, wondering if this was the moment he had been dreading for the past decade or so. “Aside from the dying and coming back to life part, yeah,” he admitted, trying his best to appear unfazed, returning his attention to the bag. “That bother you?”

“Nah.” Was it just him or did Hardison’s casual tone sound forced? Eliot softened his punches, just a bit, waiting to hear Hardison’s judgment. “I knew you were special forces and all. But I just never really thought about what that meant, you know?”

Now Eliot threw him a quizzical look. “Dude, you play Call of Duty all the damn time.”

“That’s just a game. It’s different thinking about you doing that stuff,” Hardison said. “Anything could have happened to you.”

Eliot stopped hitting the bag and reached for a nearby towel on the pretense of wiping off the sweat, avoiding Hardison’s gaze. 

He considered for a moment trying to explain to Hardison what it was like being an operator. The moment your team touches ground, chances are anyone that was not on your team was an enemy. On an op like that, it was either kill or be killed. 

As a soldier, it was about following orders. Orders from higher-ups dictated what you did, and when you did it. There was no questioning allowed; you carried your mission out because you swore an oath to do so. 

But as a private contractor, a soldier for hire, there was no oath. He did what he did because that’s what his employer was paying for. No matter how Eliot looked at it, it was blood money.

Eliot’s stomach turned, wondering if that was what Hardison had finally realized.

“You didn’t know me then,” he said, grateful for the convenience of hiding his face in the towel for a second. 

“That’s what bothers me.” Eliot looked up, unused to hearing Hardison’s voice sound that small. “What if something happened back then? What if I never got to know you?”

 _Dammit, Hardison._ Eliot never ceased to be amazed at how Hardison could affect him, even after more than a decade. He put down his towel and walked over to where Hardison stood, somehow looking far smaller than a man of his height should. 

“Hey,” Eliot said, his voice soft. He cupped the back of Hardison’s head with a gentle hand. “That ain’t how it worked out, Alec.”

Hardison let out a breath. “I know,” he said. “It’s just... I dunno who I’d be if I’d never met you and Parker. Not a good thing to think about.”

“So don’t,” said Eliot. He tilted Hardison’s head down, just a little bit, to give him a quick kiss. “All right?”

Hardison nodded, smiling a little bit, relaxing. “Y’know,” he said, his voice returning to his usual playful tone,” maybe I should come to you like this more often.”

“Like what?”

“All worried and shit. I get more sugar this way.”

Eliot smirked, pushing Hardison away playfully. “Shut up.”

* * *

  
**APARTMENT 2A ABOVE MCRORY’S BAR — BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS**

Beside him, the phone buzzed but he was in no hurry to answer it. Instead, he moved a few pieces on the chessboard, before pouring a finger of whiskey for himself.

Finally, he looked at the message on his phone. 

_< < It’s set. >>_

Nathan Ford drained the glass and then went upstairs to pack. It was time to book a flight to Portland.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you SO much to mimi123meg, daency, and leverage-ot3 on Tumblr for beta'ing the Prologue and Chapter 1 for me :D


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